


The Good Stuff

by startswithhope



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Smut, bailbonds person Emma, barkeep Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/pseuds/startswithhope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based very loosely on this prompt (This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…). Here's a smutty take on two friends in a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Stuff

“I think you’ve been stood up, Swan.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious, whatever would I do without you?”

“I’m always here, so, thankfully, you’ll never need to find that out.”

The charming bastard actually manages to catch the stale peanut she tosses at him in his mouth before sauntering to the end of the bar to refill the glass of the only other customer, Leroy or Leonard or something. Emma usually just thinks of him as Mr. Grumpy.

Looking down at her phone and seeing that it’s now 11:47 pm, she begrudgingly has to concede that Killian is right, she’s been stood up. If this were an actual date with an actual man with whom she had actual feelings, she might be a bit sad right now. Instead, she’s pissed. Her bank account was really looking forward to handcuffing tonight’s mark to Killian’s bar, but as deadbeat lowlifes tend to do, the asshole didn’t show. Shoving her phone into the pocket of her leather jacket, she moves to stand, but stops as a glass slides into the side of her palm.

With his hip leaning against the back of the bar and the bottle of his finest rum (the good stuff he hides in the back of his safe) still gripped in his prosthetic hand, Killian is nodding towards her with a smile she doesn’t think she’s actually seen before. And yeah, she feels like she’s seen a wide array of his smiles, usually veering towards flirtatious or salacious, and sometimes overtly proud after he’s witnessed her take down a perp. But this one is different, more like a question, or hopeful, opening him up to her in a way that should make her want to run, fast, and far, far away.

For some reason tonight, she doesn’t. Settling back on her bar stool, she lifts the proffered glass to her lips and takes a sip of the strong amber liquor. The burn at the back of her throat is soothing in a way, much like Killian, but _woah_ …where in the hell did that thought come from? When she looks up, he’s back at the other end of the bar, having his usual back and forth with Mr. Grumpy over when the man is planning to pay his ever growing tab. Knowing his attention is diverted elsewhere, she allows herself a good look, letting her eyes linger longer than normal at the tight fit of his jeans and the muscled expanse of his shoulders she can just make out beneath his black button up. She tells herself that there’s no harm in looking, especially at a handsome man who knows that he is, and who parades around his bar with his shirts unbuttoned almost to his naval, eye-fucking generous tips from every patron he serves, male or female alike. He’s a pirate of sorts, stealing people’s loot without them realizing they’ve been swindled. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to borrowing a few of his tricks.

“See something you like, Swan?”

There’s a telltale burn to her cheeks at being caught ogling, but she doesn’t respond, not to that anyway.

“How much does he owe you?”

Killian is looking over her head at Mr. Grumpy now stumbling his way out the door, the jangle of the dented bell above signalling the bar empty outside of the two of them.

“Not a bloody clue. I stopped keeping track ages ago.”

She should be surprised at this admission, but she’s not. Killian has always had a soft spot for the lonely and somewhat lost, at least that’s what she’s told herself after too many nights spent in his company. They’ve only skirted around the deep stuff, vague references to her lack of any family and the series of misfortunes that led to his accident, an emptiness they both fill with shared silence and rum. Despite the millions of people wandering this city, there’s been enough revealed to know that they’ve somehow managed to find a kindred spirit in one another, a truth neither of them have ever felt the need to speak aloud.

It’s that unspoken connection that doesn’t have her questioning things when he saunters from behind the back of the bar to lock the front door and deposit himself on the stool next to her with a too full glass of rum between his fingers. The conversation that follows is as unrestrained as his earlier smile, questions finally fully asked and answered on both sides. Her honest revelation that his bar is the only place she truly feels at home somehow leading to his admission that he’s realized that his heart is finally healed enough to love someone again. And suddenly, new questions in need of answers are burning the tip of her tongue.

When he suggests they take their drinks to the sofa in the corner, she follows, slightly tipsy and warm all over from more than just the alcohol. He hasn’t made a move to touch her, not really, brushes of knees and elbows noticed but not enough. She’s not sure of exactly when she came to that conclusion, but she’s firmly there and if she’s reading the heat behind his glance as she pulls her knees up to sit close to him on the worn leather cushion, he’s not far off. It’s late, the kind of late where choices are usually made, to stay or go, move forward or stop. When his thigh shifts to fit beneath her knees and his hand slides down from its perch along the back of the couch to rest lightly across her shoulder, she decides it’s time to move.

If this was anyone other than Killian, she might not have done this all at once, but she just wants too much and judging by his immediate response, so does he. Within seconds of her lips taking hold of his she finds herself straddling his lap, his prosthetic at her waist pulling her closer as his hand tugs her jacket from her arms in an attempt to toss it to the floor at their feet. She does her best to help, but god, the taste of his mouth and the heat building between their lips is a worthwhile distraction she’s internally kicking herself for not demanding they experience before this very moment. Finally finished with her jacket, his fingers curl around her neck and he changes the angle of the kiss, a near growl escaping his throat as their tongues meet in deliciously dirty strokes.

Digging her knees deep into the back of the couch, she begins to roll against the bulge in his jeans until they both are pulling back from the kiss to moan in approval. Neither of them have stopped to speak, but words just don’t seem necessary, not with her hands braced on his shoulders and his eyes boring into hers as he guides her to keep moving, faster, harder. Her head falls back as she finds that spot with the ridge of his zipper, that spot that has her starting to see stars. That’s why when his hand pushes hard at the small of her back, she lets him hold her close and maneuver her beneath him along the length of the sofa, her legs falling open in welcome as he takes over control. Keeping his weight on his forearm, she shivers slightly as the cool surface of his prosthetic brushes against her ear, such a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth on her neck as he nibbles his way down along the open fabric of her collar to settle between her breasts.

He mouths her name against her sweat slicked skin and she reaches for his head to pull him back to her lips, needing to taste his desperation to know if it’s as strong as hers. Reaching down, she hooks her fingers into the front of his jeans to pull his hips down, holding him in place as she lifts herself beneath him to find that perfect fit. The air around them seems to snap as all hesitation falls away, his hand that had been creeping beneath her shirt towards her breast now changing course to move down and slip under the satin hidden beneath the leggings at her hip. So completely on board with his thinking, she releases his waistband and slides slightly to the right giving him the room he needs and the permission to delve further, calling his name into the empty bar as he does.

Words come freely from them both at this point, hers begging for more and faster, his whispering into the corner of her mouth how gorgeous she is and how many times he’s dreamt of this moment, of watching her fall apart in his arms. As his fingers curl inside and his palm presses with purpose, she silences them both with a kiss that falls apart as soon as her orgasm unfurls and she’s left gasping against his lips. Feeling boneless and blissful, she feels around with her hand until she’s found where he’s aching for her, moving to palm him over his jeans until he’s the one gasping and gripping almost painfully at her hip. He lets her continue for a few moments more, before he’s shifting more fully atop her again and she’s forced to move her hand to his waist. The kiss that follows is softer, the rest of his body relaxing as his lips slide over hers again and again as he calms the passion and thoughts of what comes next begins to settle in.

What’s next is yet to be determined, but with him releasing her lips and shuffling adorably beside her until she curls up against his chest, she feels safe in the knowledge that he’ll actually stick around with her to find out.


End file.
